


Giving Thanks and Just Giving

by TeaAndATale



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Modern AU, Steggy - Freeform, belated thanksgiving treat, really ooey-gooey fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaAndATale/pseuds/TeaAndATale
Summary: This was definitely unlike her first true Thanksgiving in the States all those years ago after the war. But the end result, a rounding success, had her pleased and sappy and warm.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So... I had wanted to post sometime in time for Thanksgiving which didn't happen for reasons, but then after dinner last night another image floated in my head. And since I still haven't decided if I'm going to do the Steggy Secret Santa thing on tumblr, since I'm kinda nervous about contributing, here's a little post-Thanksgiving treat.  
> I'm thankful for everyone reading and commenting over the last few months. Happy Thanksgiving!  
> -  
> Vaguely set in the Avengers universe, where Steve and Peggy are reunited and young.

_Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings._

_-William Arthur Ward_

 

 *

 

The twenty-four pound turkey’s been scavenged to mere scraps. The half-dozen or so pie tins sit in messy array of mostly eaten to untouched—peanut butter chocolate, classic apple, cherry and the extra pumpkin, in that order—until Steve gets his second wind, of course after she’s made her selections. All this lay amid the warm backdrop of a cozy home, where the Charlie Brown special plays at a dim hum. Peggy scrapes the dishes in the kitchen still wearing her party dress, having swapped her heels for slippers. She fills glass containers with leftovers, finding herself humming a Christmas tune, even though she finds this century’s holiday spirit coming much too early for her liking. She can’t help it, not in the orange glow of the still too warm kitchen. Not when just a moment ago she peeked into the living room.

Steve was sprawled out on the oversized couch, rendering it minuscule in comparison, his head against one armrest, his legs hanging over the other. And on his chest, snuffling to the same tune as his father, arms raised over his head, was Jamie. It made her heart liquid, her eyes following suit. Nonsense, she had muttered to herself as the tears sprung free. It had been three years of heart-warming moments of her husband and son cuddling in all parts of their home.

There was Steve, with baby Jamie nestled against his chest in a sling while he puttered around the house doing chores. There was Steve passed out in an armchair, and one-year Jamie using his father’s shirt as a blanket. There was Steve checking on their son in his new big-boy bed after a nightmare, in which giant lizards were eating his stuffed animal friends, and ending up comically half-resting on the tiny bed perpendicular to a consoled Jamie.

Still…

Her long history with Steve was cause enough for her sentimentality. Nearly seventy years apart could do that to a girl.

She loves them. So much it sometimes hurt. Sometimes because she’s worried it can’t possibly last. That this is all the most wonderful terrible dream.

Just like their first time hosting the family-of-friends Thanksgiving dinner. It sounded nightmarish to Peggy when Steve had begged for her approval. Hours slaving over the oven. But the end result, a rounding success, had her pleased and sappy and warm.

Their painted Brooklyn brownstone, the one financial splurge they both agreed to as a result of Jamie’s conception, had been crowded with guests. Peggy’s office colleagues. Steve’s VA friends and their families. And of course their Avengers family. Tony had pretended to blast through walls Iron-Man style with Jamie just before Sam had scooped him up and tried to teach him chopsticks on the upright piano. Jamie had climbed her legs when Steve’s veteran friends had shook his tiny hand, having gone suddenly shy, until daddy held him explaining these were soldier friends of his. Jamie was very interested in soldiers. Natasha, for whom Jamie had a particular sweet spot for, had the privilege of being Jamie’s seat for the precious few minutes he wasn’t running around the house. He had giggled at her, and allowed her to feed him both turkey and stuffing with a fork instead of his hands.

Peggy reaches for the barely touched glass of whiskey Steve had poured her over an hour ago. She swirls the liquid, takes two sips and sets it back down. She returns to the mess of leftovers. She gets through packing up the leftover honey-glazed ham, nibbling at it, when she sets the container down and tip-toes back to the threshold of the living room.

Jamie has Steve’s mop of hair, the same strands of hair that flopped over his forehead no matter how long Peggy combed it to submission, only it’s a mix of both their hair colors. It’s too dark to classify as blond, but not quite the rich brown on Peggy’s head. She gazes upon this feature on both her boys.

Her two handsome boys.

She hadn’t really considered motherhood. Not since she gave up the expected life she was told to live when she was engaged to Fred a lifetime ago. But now, here with Steve, having a true partner for such a momentous task, she can’t see her taking advantage of this new millennium any other way.

It mattered that Steve wanted to be a father, wanted to raise their child. It matters to her that she can see exactly how much he loves being a parent, how it’s in his blood, in his being. There would never have been an ideal time to have had a child, not with their atypical life experience, especially at the utter surprise of Peggy finding herself pregnant. But, she did know, there was an ideal way to venture upon parenthood no matter how unexpected: with the love of her life, Steve Rogers, at her side.

The light from the television flickers over their snoozing bodies, both their mouths parted in exactly the same shape, Steve’s broad palm against their son’s back. Peggy snapped a silent photo on her phone, adding to her extensive collection of family photos. She didn’t have much on her fancy phone, except for the hundreds upon hundreds of photos of her family.

She lingers another few minutes, drinking in the too precious image.

This was definitely unlike her first true Thanksgiving in the States all those years ago after the war. It was not cold sandwiches and hot tea, and a recap of her roommate’s family gathering at the end of the night. This was the chaos of cooking a meal meant for dozens, of cleaning for days, and assembling makeshift tables to fit anyone who came through. It was the warmth of hugs and contributing dishes, desserts, sides and liquor. It was taking the morning off not for coffee or a walk to the park, but taking Jamie to the local homeless shelter to lend a hand and a smile with those who deserved just as good of a meal. It was the dizziness of a three-year-old buzzing through the kitchen with more energy than his super-serumed father. But more than anything it was family that made it feel like the holidays.

Peggy doesn’t jump when hands twine around her waist, elbow deep in soapy dish water. It’s been nearly four years of first Steve’s hands reaching for her in the night, and then tiny cold toddler hands patting her awake at all hours. And sometimes it was Jamie’s cold toes kicking her in the stomach as he snuck into their bed. She likewise doesn’t startle when soft lips catch the underside of her jaw. She leans into it.

“I thought I told you I’d do the dishes,” Steve murmurs hotly against her skin.

She hums since she can’t form words. It’s the first moment alone she’s had with her husband since the previous night. She’s selfish enough to savor it.

Steve has other plans.

He slips the gloves off her hands, stretching them over his own fingers.

“You and Jamie were out like lights,” she tells him, refusing to move so that Steve has to crowd against her to reach into the sink.

He kisses her neck.

“You should have woken me up. It’s way too late for Jamie to not be in bed.”

Normally she would agree. But not tonight.

“It was a special night. And a holiday. Family time is an acceptable reason to bend the rules.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says with a chuckle. “Peggy, you’ve done enough. Go to bed. It’s late. I’ll finish this.”

She turns so they’re standing chest to chest and stares him down.

“No.”

He drops the plate he was holding back into the sink just as she presses forward, kissing him firm on the lips. He melts into her touch the same way he has done since the first time she kissed him. She didn’t expect to continue to feel this way, girlish and heady, years after the build-up had been resolved, after marriage and a baby. But she does. And he does. And so instead of being upset when wet gloves grab her hips, probably ruining her silk dress, she moans against his lips.

“Did you put Jamie to bed?” she asks while he bit her ear.

Steve lets out a barely audible groan and shakes his head. “Left him on the couch.”

They both bite their lips and take a tiny step apart. Despite the desire and disappointment, they grin at each other. Even this could be fun. They turn back to tidying up the kitchen. Steve returns to dish duty, while Peggy starts filling the fridge. They eye each other more than they usually would doing chores.

“Love you,” he tells her across the kitchen after she leaves him the last slice of peanut butter chocolate pie next to the sink.

She beams. “Love you too Steve.”

While Steve continues clearing off the tables and the counters, Peggy decides to put Jamie to bed. He doesn’t stir in her arms, not even when she pressed kisses to his nose and cheek. Jamie unconsciously gripped at the fabric at her chest, a holdover from babyhood. For a moment, she gets sad thinking about how her baby is no longer a baby.

When she returns, she finds that Steve had turned the television off and finished putting away all the dishes. She comes up behind him and rests her head against his back, hand kneading at his shoulder.

“Thank you darling.”

“Thank you Peggy. I know you weren’t exactly thrilled with us hosting Thanksgiving. It means a lot to me.”

“It was exhausting,” she admits, “but I’m glad we did it.”

“Good memories.”

“Good memories,” she repeats solemnly.

They stand there for a long moment in their kitchen, just being, as the new day flows forward. Slowly they make their way down the hall and into their bedroom.

Peggy stretches her arms, kicking the slippers into a corner, and takes off her jewelry.

“You know,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around her waist again, pulling her hair over her left shoulder, “I think we should take a shower.” He kisses the back of her neck. “I don’t think I did you justice expressing my appreciation, and I’d love to show you just how thankful I am.”

She grins, as their hips sway gently against one another to an imaginary beat. “Steve…” she says to no real purpose.

His lips trail towards her shoulder. “C’mon, you know you want to,” he murmurs.

She laughs and turns to pull her arms around her husband’s neck. “Alright, you’ve convinced me,” she teases.

He groans dramatically, lifting her off the ground with one hand, his other already working the zipper of her dress. Silk pools around her waist, and she’s thankful he’s able to lead them into their bathroom, turn the water on to warm, all while holding her up and kissing her thoroughly. Peggy pushes out of his hold and tosses the dress to the ground. Steve is standing and staring. She loves how he’s never changed in that respect.

“Lock the door,” she orders with a coy smile as she steps into the shower.

“Yes ma’am.”

The water goes cold, and yet they remain under it. After all, there’s a lot to be thankful for.


End file.
